


I can't do this

by NoMatterTheOceans



Series: Feysand Holiday Fluff Fest [16]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, NSFW, domestic abuse, drinking and deiving, i guess?, not really but hey a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21819559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMatterTheOceans/pseuds/NoMatterTheOceans
Summary: Part of my Feysand Holiday Fluff Fest, but this one is angsty!!!Prompt: we just had a one-night stand but a massive storm hit so now we’re snowed in, hello awkward
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Series: Feysand Holiday Fluff Fest [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552855
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	I can't do this

Rhys was about to head to bed when someone knocked on the door of the cabin.

It was more than midnight, almost nobody knew that he was up here for the weekend, and there was only one person who regularly showed up at his front door in the middle of the night. But she usually called first.

He lazily got up from the couch and moved down the hall to open the door and find Feyre, as expected, waiting for him with a seductive smile on her face. And as he did every time she came to him, he took a second to look at her, enjoying the quiet that preceded their usual activity. Then in the next second, she stepped inside and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his lips to hers. 

And he would have been lost in her touch in seconds, if it hadn’t been for what he felt in her breath. Because that was whiskey.

He pushed her away from him and looked down at her. Indeed, now that he was looking for it, he could see the signs of drunkenness all over her. Her breath, the foggy look in her eyes, the way she seemed to cling to him more than usual to keep herself upright. She was drunk. And yet she was here, to his cabin for away from the city, and there was only one way she gotten here.

“Feyre, how did you get here?”

She just shrugged and started to kiss his jaw, making him bite his bottom lip to try and focus on something that wasn’t her soft touches on his skin.

“Did you drive here?” She mumbled a noise of agreement against him, her hands now moving from his neck to go down along his spine and slide under his shirt. He was starting to lose focus.

“Feyre. You’re drunk. And you drove? Why would you -”

He was cut off by her mouth on his, her tongue flicking against him to make him shut up. More efficient that he wanted it to be.

“I really don’t feel like talking right now.” He wanted to retort that she never felt like talking, but her fingers slid from his back to his belly, and then they were lowering at the front of his sweatpants, and he took in a sharp breath as she grazed against him in a teasing touch, smirking at the hardness she found here.

He really wanted to talk about how irresponsible she had been, but she had slid her hand inside his pants, and now she was stroking him softly, and her teeth were nipping at his earlobe, and her breath against his skin was rendering him unable to focus on anything that wasn’t her body against his.

So he slid his arms around her slender waist and lifted her up before starting to walk to his bedroom, his thoughts wiped out by the sensation of her lips on his.

Everything was hard and fast after that, Feyre getting them undressed and straddling him without giving him the time to go down on her, something she usually loved. She slid herself onto him with a moan, and started moving immediately, relentlessly. Rhys slid his hands on her body, losing himself in the curves of her back and the smooth skin of her breast. She had both hands on his chest, anchoring herself as she rocked back and forth, her hair loose on her body, her lips slightly parted. And damn him, he wanted to hug her. Even in the extreme rush of lust that was coursing through him, he knew that if she let him, he would give up the sex and just encircle her in his arms to hold her. Forever, if only she would let him. But of course, she wouldn’t, she never did, so instead he drove his hands up her chest to reach the back of her neck and slid his fingers in her hair, watching her come undone in front of him, his name leaving her lips in a faint whisper that turned into a moan.

***

Still coming down from her own climax, Feyre felt Rhys hands tighten on her skin, and she knew he was coming, too. She could feel the need in his touches, the need to hold her against him, as he always did in that moment, and she gave into the plea, lowering herself to his chest and resting her head against his stumbling heart. 

And she didn’t know how long they stayed that way, catching their breath and calming their hearts against one another, but for once, Feyre tried to let herself enjoy it. This intimacy. And it was definitely the alcohol in her veins making her act foolish, because she would’ve never let herself slip that way.

But Rhys started to stroke the skin of her back slowly, affectionately, and she pushed herself off of him, forcing his arms away and resting on her back beside him, not wanting to look into his eyes. She needed to go home. She started to rise from his bed, but his arm was around her waist a second later.

“You’re not going home, Feyre.”

“I always go home, Rhys.” That was the rule. The unspoken rule, anyway. They never talked much, and she never spent the night. Simple. Safe. And he never tried to break these rules.

“You’re drunk, and I am not letting you drive home while you’re in that state.” He paused, but she could sense he wasn’t done. “I can sleep on the couch if you don’t want me here.”

She actually snorted at that proposal. “We just had sex, Rhys. I think we can survive sleeping in the same bed.”

And before he could answer, she laid back down on the bed and closed her eyes, her back to him.

***

She woke up the next day with the worst headache she’d had in months.

And the smell of fresh coffee coming from down the hall.

Was he making breakfast? Like they were… Like she wasn’t…

Not wanting to finish this sentence, she gathered her clothes, found her shoes, and a few minutes later, she was heading down the hallway to the front door, hoping she could leave silently and act as if they hadn’t broken a rule.

“You won’t go anywhere.”

She closed her eyes for a second, her hand on the doorknob, and then sighed. She really didn’t want to talk.

“I don’t know what you think you doing, but -”

“I’m not doing anything. It snowed during the night. The road is impracticable until the snow melts.”

And maybe she was imagining things, but his voice sounded colder than usual. But she had bigger problems right now.

“I should have just gotten home right after,” she mumbled under her breath, and she heard him put down a mug at that. Maybe with a little more force than necessary. But her back was still turned to him.

“Oh really, Feyre, you think that would have been a good idea?” He was definitely angry.

“At least I wouldn’t be stuck here.”

“No, you would probably be dead with your car at the bottom of a ravine. But I guess that’s still better than being stuck with me, isn’t it?”

She turned to him at that, and found him leaning against his kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t have had an accident, Rhys.”

“And how do you know? You were completely drunk! I don’t even know how you got here in one piece!”

“But I did! And I would have gotten home safely, too!” She was yelling now, and he uncrossed his arms.

“You don’t know that! How could you have been so reckless? You endangered yourself, and everyone you could have hurt on the way, and for what? To get laid?”

“No!” And she paused, but he didn’t speak, as if knowing she wasn’t done. And when she resumed talking, she wasn’t yelling anymore. “I needed to see you.”

She saw his mouth open as if he was about to talk, but he frowned and closed it, visibly processing what she’d just said. And then he whispered a soft “why?”

She couldn’t tell him why. She wasn’t ready to tell him why.

But he was looking at her, and there was an emotion in his eyes, an emotion that she had sworn to herself she would never make someone else feel. Despair. So her hand left the doorknob, and she took a step towards him.

“Rhys, you know what happened to me. With him.” She took another step. “You were there when I got to Mor’s place that night.” And she knew he was remembering, too. Her broken jaw, her black eye, the bruises on her ribs and arms. She knew, because she saw his fists tighten at the memory. But she didn’t back away, she kept moving to him. Because she had been silent for too long. “Rhys, when we’re together, when I feel you touching me, you make me feel so good. Not just physically, but… When I’m in bed with you, it’s the only time I feel truly alive. I crave our nights together more than anything else, because it’s the only way I have to not feel like I’m drowning. Last night was a bad night, and I wanted to drink myself to sleep, I hoped it would be enough to make me get through it. But I needed you.”

And now he was the one moving to her, but she rose a hand to ask him to stop. He did.

“Rhys... I can’t give you anything else. I can’t give you..” She paused, trying to find the best way to express what she felt. “I can’t give you snuggling under a blanket to watch a movie, and I can’t give you soft kisses in the mornings. I can’t give you cuddles after we’re done having sex. I can’t do this.”

She didn’t know when, but at some point, tears had started running down her face, and her vision was blurry. But she didn’t look away from him, not as he walked to her and rose his hands to her face and slowly, softly, ran his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe the tears away.

“Feyre, I’m not asking you to give me anything you’re not ready for. But I can’t lie to myself, and I can’t lie to you. I’m in love with you.” She took in a sharp breath, but his delicate hands were still cupping her face gently, and he looked so sure of himself, she couldn’t look away. “And I know you can’t say it back, I’m not asking you to. And I will accept every scrap of intimacy you feel ready to give me. But please, Feyre, I can’t lose you. You can’t take risks like that again, I’m begging you.”

There was supplication in his voice, in his features, and at that, it finally dawned on her how reckless she had been. “I’m sorry, I promise I won’t,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“Now, do you want some coffee while we wait for the snow to clear?”

She nodded, and he let go of her, giving her the space she needed, only to pour her a mug of fresh coffee, their fingers grazing in a promise of a future, when there could be cuddles in bed and movies curled up on the couch.


End file.
